


Pot Kettle Black

by notallbees



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1930s, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom Cuddling, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sleepy Cuddles, idiot boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notallbees/pseuds/notallbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He’s been going crazy for two days now, stuck alone in their cramped elbow of an apartment with only the wireless for company, and his brain that won’t shut up. And to make it worse, Bucky’s still working all the hours he can grab just to tide them over to March. He’s been moving slower and slower all week, trying to hide his tiredness behind his smile, but Steve knows all about tiredness. He practically wrote the book.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bucky's overworked himself taking care of Steve, and Steve is determined to make him get some rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pot Kettle Black

**Author's Note:**

> **warning** : for some very minor sexual content. A Teen rating seemed right but just so you're aware!
> 
> Title from [Pot Kettle Black](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/wilco/potkettleblack.html) by Wilco, all of which basically sums up their relationship here :D
> 
> Look I just like hopeless-boys-in-love-taking-care-of-each-other what can I say? Also, apparently dom cuddling is becoming A THING. 
> 
> (also more [Fourth Wall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2357093) is coming v soon, the last few chapters are just giving me some trouble :3)

It was the weather changing that did it, just like every year, and Steve’s been weak with fever and coughing for three weeks. He’s been sitting and watching the leaves change from the window, watching people come and go in coats and scarves, and darning Bucky’s shirts and socks when his eyes are up to it. Meanwhile, Bucky’s barely been home, getting in just long enough to collapse before he drags himself out of bed the next morning, gives Steve a weary smile of thanks for fixing his shirt, and heads out again. 

Steve’s finally well enough to sit at the table for a few hours and do some work, but he overdid it this morning and he’s been fuming in bed all afternoon, too tired to work and too angry to sleep. He hauls himself upright in bed when he hears Bucky’s key in the door. He’s been going crazy for two days now, stuck alone in their cramped elbow of an apartment with only the wireless for company, and his brain that won’t shut up. And to make it worse, Bucky’s still working all the hours he can grab just to tide them over to March. He’s been moving slower and slower all week, trying to hide his tiredness behind his smile, but Steve knows all about tiredness. He practically wrote the book. 

Bucky shuffles through the door, bringing in the scent of cold air and car exhausts. “Evenin’, sport!” he yells, and the forced cheer in his voice makes Steve wince. He turns and gets his feet on the floor, closing his eyes against the rush of dizziness. “Woah woah, what’re you doing?” Bucky says, stepping into the bedroom with his palms outstretched. “Get back in that bed.”

“I gotta piss,” Steve growls, shaking him off when Bucky reaches for the blankets to tuck him back in. His arm brushes Bucky’s cold sleeve, and he flinches away from it. “Leave off, Buck.”

Rather than snap back at him, Bucky just shrugs and steps away, expression blank and weary. Steve pulls on a sweater of Bucky’s over his pyjamas and hobbles down the hallway, one hand on the wall to keep him steady. He’s sick of pissing in the pot under the bed, sick of watching Bucky clean up after him, and bring him breakfast even when he’s barely awake enough to move himself. 

When Steve gets back from the bathroom, Bucky’s sitting at their rickety table with his head in his hands. He looks up when he hears the door slam, dragging on a worn, scraped together smile. “Hey, how’re you feelin’? You got some more color today.”

Steve scowls at him. “I’m fine. You oughta lie down.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’ll make us some dinner.” He starts to push himself up from the chair, but Steve lays a hand on his shoulder and he slumps back down. 

“Stop being stubborn. I’ll make it.”

“No, you gotta rest,” Bucky protests, but when Steve doesn’t move his hand away, he sighs and folds his arms on the table, then sets his cheek on his wrist. “I’ll get to it in a second.”

Steve picks up the groceries Bucky brought and sets the bag on the kitchen bench. There’s enough vegetables to cobble together a good, hearty soup, which should go some way to making them both feel more alive. A glance over his shoulder tells him that Bucky has already dozed off, but as soon as Steve staggers back to the apartment with a heavy pot of water ten minutes later, he jerks awake. 

“The hell’re you doin?” he grumbles, getting to his feet. He grabs the pot out of Steve’s arms and sets it on the stove. “Said I’d make dinner.”

“Dammit, Bucky,” Steve grouses, stepping back to lean against the table, not quite trusting his legs to keep him upright. “You’re workin’ yourself to nothing. It’s gotta stop.”

“Tell it to the Almighty, Stevie. You can’t work like this, so I do what needs doing.” Bucky lays out the vegetables and starts to slice a leek with slow, even movements.

Steve turns his head away. “I hate it.” 

Bucky sighs, his voice heavier than usual. “Is what it is.”

“Bucky-”

“Go sit down a minute,” Bucky says, stifling a yawn. “Let me work.”

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but one look at the rigid set of Bucky’s shoulders tells him he’ll only be poking a bear, and an angry one at that, so he keeps it to himself and sits down at the table instead. His work is still spread out from before, and he pulls open his sketchbook to finish up. Everything he drew this morning looks like shit, and he scowls and rips out the pages. He’ll use the backs of them for sketches when he runs out of white space, but for now he doesn’t want to look at them. Bucky clears his throat, but he’s not looking when Steve glances over. He’s hunched forward, stirred the sizzling vegetables in the pot, his body looking like a pile of limp clothes strung tight on a line. 

“Bucky?” There’s no response, so he tries again a little louder. “ _Bucky_.”

“Huh?”

Steve gets up and pushes him out of the way. Even though he complains, Bucky just steps aside without putting up a fight, falling out of Steve’s space. With a scowl, Steve turns to Bucky with his hands on his hips.

“It’s gotta boil yet, Stevie,” he says, sounding faintly annoyed.

“We’ll eat later,” Steve says, glaring up at him. “You need to rest.”

Bucky snorts, and rolls his eyes. “Coming from you.”

“Yeah, from me,” Steve snaps, and sticks out his chin. “Whose ma was a nurse, huh? Who knows more about bein’ sick than you do? Me, that’s who. Now sit down before I make ya.”

“You will, huh?” Bucky mumbles, but he’s already moving, the pull of the couch too tempting for him. He kicks off his shoes and drops onto the near end of the couch, the end he usually sits at, tipping his head back against the cushions. “I’ll just close my eyes for ten minutes.”

Steve smiles a little and turns back to the soup. Honestly, Bucky’s a better cook than he’ll ever be, because Bucky’s good at focusing on a thing from start to finish while Steve tends to get distracted by flights of fancy. Still, all he’s gotta do is heat and stir and add a couple of things at the right times. Bucky’s got some fresh rosemary he must’ve pinched from a garden down the street. Steve pinches off the spindly leaves with his thumb and forefinger, wincing at the sticky oil that rubs into his skin and gets under his nails. He tosses the rosemary into the pot and gives the soup another stir, before replacing the lid. 

Turning the heat down, Steve leaves the pot to boil on its own, then walks back over to collapse at the table. He looks over and sees that Bucky is watching him, eyes half closed and a strange, fond expression on his face. “Shut your eyes.”

“Gotta take care of you,” Bucky mumbles, shifting his weight, as if he might be thinking about getting up. 

With a sigh, Steve walks over to the couch and climbs onto his lap. Bucky huffs in and his eyes go wide with surprise. “Stevie,” he says in a rough voice. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Puttin’ you to sleep,” Steve says in a stern voice. He straddles Bucky’s thighs and spreads his palms on his shoulders, digs his thumbs in. When Bucky looks up at him curiously, face open and anxious, Steve just smiles and averts his eyes to his hands while he starts to massage gently, working out the tension from Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky groans, his head falling forwards, and Steve leans in to press his face into his hair. He smells faintly of cigarette smoke and the river, and Steve whispers nonsense to him so that he’ll relax.

“Feels good,” Bucky says quietly, leaning into Steve’s touch. He’s still tense, but not like before, and he warms up under Steve’s hands. “Sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, dummy.” Steve moves his hands up to Bucky’s neck, then strokes his fingers through Bucky’s hair, nails dragging over his scalp. Bucky moans and his hands move up to hold onto Steve’s hips, keeping him in place. “You gotta take care of yourself too, Buck. You’re no use to anyone like this.”

“Sorry,” Bucky whispers, his breath touching Steve’s throat. “Don’t wanna let you down.”

Steve makes a soft, sad noise and pulls Bucky’s head closer, cradling it to his chest. “Don’t be stupid, I didn’t mean that.” Bucky’s arms come up around his back, holding him. Steve shivers at the feel of Bucky’s palm settling over the small of his back, and he presses a kiss to Bucky’s hair. “C’mon,” he says, willing his voice to come out steady, when he feels anything but. “Lie down, take a nap. You deserve it.”

Bucky gives a short, lazy shake of his head. “Can’t. Dinner-”

“Lie down, Barnes, so help me,” Steve mutters. He pulls out of Bucky’s arms so he can stand up for better leverage, then he grabs Bucky by the scruff of his collar and hauls him sideways. Bucky makes a startled noise as he slips down onto the cushions, then he laughs quietly. Steve doesn’t get a lot of chances to manhandle Bucky, and it takes him by surprise. Muttering compliance, he shuffles along so he can draw his feet up onto the couch, and rolls onto his back. Steve leans over to unfasten Bucky’s belt, and Bucky lifts his hips so Steve can yank it out of his belt loops and toss it onto the floor. 

“Y’just gettin’ yer own back,” Bucky mumbles, the words coming out a little slurred with how sleepy he is. He stifles another yawn with the back of his wrist, and Steve watches the way his shirt rides up, exposing his belly. “F’makin’ ya stay in bed.”

Steve nods and clambers on top of him again, fitting himself against Bucky, into the spaces around him. “Thanks for takin’ care of me, Buck,” he mutters, digging his fingers into Bucky’s shirt. Bucky’s hand covers his, warm and comforting. 

“What else‘m I gonna do?”

“Wouldya shut yer mouth for once an’ let me say thank you?” Steve teases, nudging at him. “Don’t think I’ll say it again when you’re ‘woke enough to remember.”

Bucky smiles and presses his mouth against Steve’s temple. “Mmkay, I’m listenin’.”

Steve laughs softly. “What, now you want more?” He pushes his leg between Bucky’s, and strokes his hand up and down Bucky’s side. “I hate being stuck in here. I hate that you gotta work so hard just to keep us from drowning.” Bucky tenses, sucking in air through his teeth, and Steve looks up at him sharply. Bucky just gives him a wry smile.

“Ticklish,” he mutters. “You forget?”

“Course not.” Steve trails his fingertips over Bucky’s ribs again, just to hear him gasp. He grins when Bucky curses at him, and moves his hand up to stroke his hair. “Sorry I been so bad tempered. I don’t deserve you, Buck.”

“Don’t talk stupid,” Bucky says impatiently, bringing his arm around Steve’s shoulders to hug him closer. “Always gonna look out for you.”

Steve nods, tucking his head under Bucky’s chin. “I know,” he says quietly. “You’re the best friend I ever had, y’no that?” Bucky just makes a sleepy noise, hugging him tighter, and Steve laughs. “Course you know that. True though, Buck, you’re a hell of a guy. Dunno how I’m gonna pay you back for this.”

“Idiot,” Bucky says, turning to look at him. Steve turns his face up, and Bucky touches his chin, presses it between thumb and forefinger. “Not after some kinda payback, dummy,” he says, his eyes heavy and bruised for lack of sleep. He’s working two jobs and picking up extra shifts where he can, and Steve’s barely _seen_ him for two weeks. He even worked last Sunday, his only day off for a fortnight, and each day this week he’s been up at the crack of dawn or earlier, hauling himself out of their bed without a word of complaint. 

Their faces are close, and Steve can smell his skin, the trace of cigarettes on his clothes. Bucky quit months ago, but all his workmates smoke, and occasionally he’ll bum a cigarette off them, or just hang around to gossip and breathe in their dirty, tobacco-stained air for ten minutes. 

“Don’t go to work tomorrow, Buck,” he pleads, his hand finding Bucky’s arm, nails digging into his bicep. “Please?” 

Bucky turns his wrist, brings his thumb up to touch Steve’s bottom lip. “I guess I could take just one day.” His thumb presses in, parting Steve’s mouth just a breath. Bucky licks his lips, his eyes focused on Steve’s tongue darting out to wet his lip, catching Bucky’s thumbnail. “Stevie-”

Steve knocks Bucky’s hand away and moves up to kiss him. Bucky grunts and makes a quiet, pained noise, his eyes falling shut as he slides his fingers into Steve’s fine hair to pull him closer. Steve wraps his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck, shifting his weight over him a little more. He thinks about what they’re doing, and his stomach twists and it feels like he’s just leapt off the top of a building, but it makes him smile all the same.

“Better not be laughin’ at me, Rogers,” Bucky murmurs, turning so that his mouth catches the corner of Steve’s. “Some girls around here’d give their right arm to kiss me.”

“You ain’t mad?”

Bucky smiles, sleepy and relaxed, his eyes still half closed. He tilts Steve’s head and kisses his cheek, then the tip of his nose. “Never mad at you, Stevie.”

Steve laughs, because that’s a pretty outrageous fib, even for Bucky. He brushes the hair off Bucky’s forehead and shyly kisses the dimple of his chin, amazed that he’s allowed, that Bucky just smiles instead of pushing him away. “Get some sleep, dummy.”

And, because Bucky’s always been better at doing what he’s told than Steve has, he does just that. Steve lies with him until he’s sure Bucky is fast asleep, then he gets up to finish making their dinner. Bucky always comes out of naps in a foul mood, but Steve’s got a plan to keep him quiet with soup and maybe some more kissing if he doesn’t mind. He sits back at the table and tries to redraw some of the pages he scrapped earlier, but his attention keeps drifting over to Bucky; the loose curl of his fingers on his chest; the pale gasp of skin that shows where his shirt has ridden up; the dark, bruise-colored circles under his eyes. Steve’s in the habit of not looking, at least not when Bucky’s awake, so he can’t help giving his eyes a treat while he’s got the chance. 

The pot of soup trembles, threatening to boil over, and Steve hurries over to remove the lid and check on it. It’s more or less ready, so he turns off the heat and sets the pot aside to cool a little, plus it’ll keep cooking while it’s still boiling anyway. He doesn’t hear Bucky get up, but he hears his footsteps, the creaky floorboard in the middle of the room, and he turns to find Bucky standing watching him, barefoot, one hand tugging nervously at his hair. 

“Steve,” he says, quiet and uncertain. “How long was I out?”

“Bout an hour,” Steve says, leaning against the bench. “How you feeling?”

Bucky shrugs. “Like I got hit by a truck.”

“You look like it.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, mouth turning up at one corner. “You’re a charmer, Rogers.”

“You sure seem to think so.”

It’s a joke, the kind of thing they say to each other daily, but Bucky’s eyes widen a little and he takes a step forward. “Yeah,” he says, his voice quiet and earnest. “I thought - maybe I dreamed that.”

Steve shakes his head, once, and Bucky’s smile comes back a little tentative. Steve grins, and they stumble into each other’s arms, Bucky ducking his head to kiss Steve none too gentle. His hands tug at the thick sweater Steve borrowed, scraping at the bony ribs beneath to pull him closer. It’s heady and dizzying; Steve’s been kissed, but never like this, like they’re trying to possess him. It’s thrilling and overwhelming and he moans loudly when Bucky grabs him around the waist and picks him up. 

“On the couch,” Bucky whispers breathlessly. “I wanna see how the rest of you tastes.” 

Steve yells at him through his laughter, begging to be put down, calling him a dozen dirty names. Bucky finally obliges by setting him on the couch and crawling over him, kissing down his throat when he’s laughing too much for a proper kiss. He pulls the neck of the sweater aside and latches onto Steve’s neck with his teeth, sucks a hickey into his skin.

“Dammit, Bucky-” Steve moans, wriggling against him. “You shit, someone might see that!” He screws up his fingers in Bucky’s hair and drags his head away. 

“Fuck,” Bucky whines, his eyes going wide as he looks down at Steve in surprise. “Sorry.”

“You’re a dog, Barnes.”

Bucky grins, flashing his canines, the dazzling grin he uses on all his girls. “Movin’ too fast for ya, honey?”

Steve shuffles underneath him, then reaches down and sticks his hand down Bucky’s pants. Bucky splutters, shocked, and Steve laughs at the look on his face. “Woah, woah,” Bucky says, pulling away from him. “Hands where I can see ‘em, Rogers, jeez.” 

“What?” Steve asks, playing innocent with his eyes, though inside he’s panicking slightly that Bucky doesn’t want that. Won’t want that. 

“Didn’t put you down for such a fast mover is all,” Bucky says, eyes softening as he leans down to kiss Steve again.

Steve snorts. “Well I’ve only known you fifteen years.”

“Shut it,” Bucky says, but he’s grinning. They kiss lazily for a couple of minutes, and they both keep their hands in neutral territory, though Steve’s body is _raging_ for more, maybe ‘cause of being cooped up so long. Bucky can obviously tell, but he’s a gentleman, and he strokes Steve’s hair carefully while pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his temple. “Hey, let’s - let’s eat, okay?” He gives Steve a nervous smile, but it’s a smile all the same. “We can talk about the rest after.”

Steve rolls his hips, looking up at him and raising his eyebrows. “Talk?”

“Christ, Rogers, now who’s a dog?” He chucks Steve’s chin with his right hand, and climbs off him. “C’mon, we both gotta eat, keep up our strength.” 

Reluctantly, Steve nods and lets himself be pulled up. He sits at the table while Bucky serves up two bowls of soup, still moving slow and heavy, but humming to himself. When Bucky sits, Steve tucks his feet up against Bucky’s, looking him in the eye, challenging him to complain. Bucky just grins like the cat that got the cream. “Don’t burn your mouth,” he says, handing Steve a spoon. “I got plans for that mouth.”

Steve grins back at him. “You gonna tell me?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Gotta have some surprises of my own.” 

“You can’t keep secrets from me, Barnes.” 

To his surprise, Bucky just gives him a sappy smile and reaches over to kiss his cheek, and Steve goes as red as a tomato. “Honey I don’t wanna keep anything from you.”

Steve groans and pushes him away, but he’s smiling, and he might just keep on smiling for days.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr!](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> I will be ever grateful if you choose to [reblog this](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/99765341720/pot-kettle-black-3308-words-by-notallbees-ao3#notes) :D


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